


You Are My Sunshine

by brookwrites



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Amazingphil - Freeform, Angst, Blood, DAN AND PHIL - Freeform, Dan Howell - Freeform, Daniel Howell - Freeform, Guns, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Murder, Oneshot, Phan - Freeform, Phan Angst, Phandom - Freeform, Phanfiction, Phil Lester - Freeform, Schizophrenia, Shooting, Suicide, danisnotonfire - Freeform, dap, dnp, phan oneshot, phanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 09:31:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13097274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookwrites/pseuds/brookwrites
Summary: Dan wakes up one morning to find Phil dead and the voices raging. After losing all he’s ever had to all that’s ever plagued him, he can’t take it anymore.





	You Are My Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is very dark; it is likely the darkest I personally have ever written. Warnings include DOUBLE major character death, blood, schizophrenia, guns/shooting (so mild violence), murder, and suicide.

I wake up with the sun as its early morning rays shine through my window. Consciousness washes over me like an ocean wave, momentarily burying me but then pulling me up as I reach to the ceiling, stretching my long arms. I feel well-rested this morning; my sleep was extremely satisfying, as if I have been waiting years for the warmth of my bedsheets. I stand up, not even wobbling as I walk as steadily as I would had I been up and about a mere hour earlier. It is an odd sense of calm over me, one I have not experienced in a while.

I wander around the house looking for my boyfriend and housemate, but he is nowhere to be found. It is quite uncharacteristic of him; he is usually up this time of day. “Phil?” I call out, his name echoing against the high ceilings of our house. The house is old and seemingly beginning to deteriorate, but it is ours. We have painted the old walls with bright colors, and it looks almost new. It is falling apart, but we have made a good home of it. I make my way up the broad, circular staircase to his room to find the door wide open. A night ago it was closed; I can swear to it. Despite the grotesque occurrences unfolding inside my own home, a sense of calm still falls over me, as if my emotions are being controlled by an outside force. I put one foot through the doorway and suddenly the calmness completely dissipates. It is replaced immediately with a horrible fear and guilt, as if by simply crossing the threshold I have done something terrible. I step back, and the calm returns. Neither feeling comforts me; neither is my own.

It is not until now that I realize they have returned. They do not speak to me today; sometimes they speak, and sometimes they only consume. The latter is worse, for at least in the former I know of their presence. During their consumption of my very sanity, I am often completely unaware. Today is one of the first times I have found them on my own; usually Phil helps me. He must help me get rid of them, too. I must go wake him, despite the eerie feeling of dread inside his bedroom; I haven’t a choice. I have to do something. I have to, I have to, I-I-I– I attempt to gain control over my own mind, but it helps little. They still rule. The ease it is for me to will myself into Phil’s room scares me; it is clearly what they want me to do. Still, I must go. I need him.

The first step into the room is as it was a moment ago; all the calm happiness drains from me, goosebumps flooding over my pale skin. The second step brings me completely into the room, and I can barely maintain my conscience with the feeling of dread that passes over me like a blow to the head. He is not in his bed, I notice then. I glance around the room until I find that he is instead on the floor. Dark, red blood flows from his head as he lie lifeless on the carpet. My immediate reaction is to swipe my phone from my pocket and call the police, my voice wavering throughout. After the call is through, I am left to investigate the situation on my own.

I bend down, my fingers shaking as they brush against his skin; it is even paler than it usually is as I take his wrist in my hand and check for a pulse.

He has none.

The situation begins to set into my mind as I realize I have lost my best friend, my boyfriend, the only one with the ability to keep me sane, to save me from them.

Wonderful job, Daniel. I hear the voice and jerk my head around, but nobody is there. No, no, it is not a person. There is no one here. It is only us. They’re speaking now. I know it is them; there is no one else it could be. I can now sense that these thoughts are in my own head, but they are not mine. Congratulations, I think in the voice that is not mine. You’ve finally gotten rid of him. Now we can live together in harmony, without him in the way.

“No,” I say to the empty room. “No, no, no. I, I can’t. I can’t have. No.”

Oh, but you did.

The voice begins to cackle, and it takes all the effort I can muster to push it out of my head. It speaks no more, but the sound rings in my head. I attempt to maintain my very sanity, although I can feel it slipping from my grasp like an apple from its branch: falling away. The sliver of logic that remains in my brain takes me around the house; not a single door is open. Nobody could have gotten in. Nobody but me could have killed him.

I fall to my knees in the middle of the living room, and a single, agonizing cry escapes me. No tears come to my eyes; no sobs emit from my mouth. I do not have the emotion remaining to cry. Now, I can only scream.

I can feel them seeping back in now. In a few minutes, they will begin to speak. Presently, I have control of my own mind, yet I feel like I have none at all. Thoughts race around my brain, any bit of sanity only a distant memory. The only thing that can possibly be worse is them. They made me kill him. They made me kill my boyfriend. I cannot live with them anymore. I cannot live at all.

I pull myself off the floor, the weight of murder and unsure guilt on my shoulders. I must will myself to do this. It is all I can do. I am nothing more than a rag doll, barely in control of my own completely insane mind, dragging myself to the spiral staircase. The images in front of me swirl like I am drunk, but the only drunkenness in my mind is my own conscience. My hand grasping the railing until it turns white, I drag myself up the staircase, falling flat upon reaching the top step. I claw on the wooden floor to his room, the carpeted flooring soothing my aching hands, although nothing can soothe my raging mind.

I crawl over to him, gazing into his lifeless, wide open eyes. These colorful eyes have always had the ability to brighten someone’s day; I have never understood how it works, but he simply has a way with making people happy. The sunshine, many call him. The only light in my life. My sunshine.

My hand clasps the handle of the pistol lying on the floor. It sits in a bloodstained square of the usually white carpet. After I pick it up, my eyes linger on the carpet for a moment. I am sure I could clean out the stain if I bothered, but the emotional stain would never disappear. The image of the stain in my mind would never disappear. There is only one way to make it disappear.

I check to find that I loaded the gun with two bullets. This is a foresight I am sure I did not know I would need; nevertheless I am thankful for it. I cock the gun and let the barrel rest against my temple, taking the hand of the love of my life and looking into his colorful, yet brightness-drained eyes, one last time.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray,” I sing.

I glance out the window; the once bright, morning sky is now a dark covering of rolling clouds.

“You never know, dear, how much I love you.”

My mind wanders to my bedroom door, where the small box containing a golden ring will remain unopened. I hear banging on the door. “Police!” a call rings out.

“Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

I pull the trigger. One would think this experience of death would be agonizing, but really it is the calmest I have felt since arriving on this situation. One would think I would feel the pain of the bullet lodging in my brain, or I would hear the ringing of the gunshot in my ears. Alas, I hear and feel nothing. I do not have the emotion, the sanity left to feel pain. All the pain I can feel has already been felt. Instead, all I experience is my world dulling into blackness as all the sunshine truly drains from my ending life.


End file.
